Forever Yours
by klisses
Summary: "Wake up. Please, Blaine, come back to me." It's the the very end of September, just a few days after he proposes, when the accident happens. He's in a coma. And Kurt's not letting him forget everything they shared. So he tells Blaine the story. Their story. And he makes sure not to miss a single detail.
1. Chapter 1 – Tell Him Your Story

**Hey there! :) I've been reading Klaine fanfiction for, well, ever, and I finally decided to give it a try because all of you are so talented and each and every one of you inspired me. So thank you!**

**Warnings – Well, I describe Blaine's injuries. And it's really sad. I'm not sure if it'll trigger anyone, but if you think it will, then there are so many other fics...all of them beautiful and probably much better than this one.**

**I love Klaine and Crisscolfer more than food, but I don't own them. Sigh.**

**Here we go! :3**

* * *

_Chapter One – Tell Him Your Story_

*.*.*.*.*

As soon as Kurt Hummel opened the door to he, Rachel Berry, and Santana Lopez's apartment, he knew something was wrong. Not the "Rachel-Stole-My-Clothes" kind of wrong. The real kind of wrong.

His first sign was the air. The air was just..._different_. Thick. The air is always so thick when something's wrong. It's thick and dry and really, really hard to breathe in.

His second sign was the whimpers. They were small, and choked, and barely audible, but Kurt heard them. Kurt heard them clear as daylight. For Rachel, whimpers were normal. But not Santana. Santana would rather be killed in her sleep than be seen crying. She thinks it's a sign of weakness, and vulnerability, and she simply won't have it.

His third sign came when he walked further. He saw something that he didn't think was humanly possible. He saw Rachel and Santana – and they were _cuddling_. They were cuddling and crying into each other's shoulders and their mascara was smudged all over their cheeks and their knuckles were a creamy white from grasping onto each other so tightly.

The fourth and final sign was the conversation that followed.

"K-Kurt, you're home." Rachel says, immediately retreating from Santana's hold. They both wipe their eyes frantically, the makeup smears only becoming worse. Santana takes a few breaths, like she was trying to calm herself. If that's what she was attempting, it really was not working.

Something is definitely, definitely wrong. So wrong that Kurt is actually beginning to feel sick.

"What's going on? Is it my Dad?"

And then they tell him.

"It's Blaine."

They tell him that he was in accident. That he's in the hospital. That he's in a _coma_.

Kurt felt all the blood completely drain from his face, his breath hitching in his throat, and the world –the world was spinning.

Because _Blaine_.

But Kurt didn't cry. He wouldn't cry. Blaine hates it when he cries.

"You're lying. It's not true. He's watching reruns of Friends, waiting for me to Skype him. So that I can hear his voice and see his face. I _know_ he is." Kurt says through gritted teeth, clenched together so tightly that for a second he thought they would crack, crumble, and fall out.

Rachel rushes over then, her hands gripping Kurt's shoulder, shaking him only slightly, her words quick and firm, "He's gonna be okay, Kurt. He'll wake up. For you. You know he'll wake up for you."

"You're lying, Rachel." Kurt says again, his jaw so stiff it was trembling because Blaine _hates_ it when he cries. "He's okay. I know he's okay."

Blaine just proposed to him last week. It's not possible – he couldn't – he was not in a _coma_. This was all some sick joke. For Santana's acting class. She and Rachel were acting. Their tears were fake, their raw voices forced. They had to be.

Because Blaine wouldn't leave him like this. Like he said so many times, "I'll always fight for you."

"He's going to be okay, Kurt." Rachel nods, a crooked smile plastered onto her lips that was anything but believable. "You're right. He'll be fine, back in your arms before you know it."

Then Santana knocked some sense into him. And it hit him. Like an enormous, billowing wave crashing onto the shore, it hit him. The kind of wave that roared, and drowned people, and sucked them under the waters so that they couldn't breathe.

They wouldn't lie about this. Who in their right mind would _lie_ about something like this? Not them.

So it was true. Blaine was in a coma. His Blaine, with his beautiful eyes and beautiful smile and beautiful heart, was in a coma.

"No, please. No."

Rachel just looks at him. So many tears fill her eyes, they look so glossy and lifeless and – and _sad_. She looked down for just one moment and she closed them. So many tears slide down her cheeks. Kurt tries to count them, but he can't.

She looks up at him, only saying one word.

"Yes."

*.*.*.*.*

_Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't you remember? Blaine said, "You look stunning when you cry, Kurt, but I hate it. When you're upset, it kills me. Smile, beautiful. Smile because you can." Don't you dare cry, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel. Not now._

He's on the plane with Rachel and Santana, sitting in the middle of them. Rachel's holding his right hand and Santana's holding his left, but it's not the same.

Their hands don't make him feel all warm and fuzzy. Their hands don't fit perfectly with his. Their hands aren't meant to hold his, fearlessly and forever. Their hands aren't Blaine's hands, so they might as well not be hands at all.

He wasn't sure about a lot of things at the moment. He wasn't sure if he had a bag packed. He wasn't sure what time it was. He wasn't sure how Santana and Rachel got the money for their tickets. All he was really sure of was that the nausea was making him dizzy, he wasn't going to let himself cry, and his fiancée was currently in a coma.

"Hummel." Santana says, awaking him from his thoughts. "Not crying is not going to do anything for you. I want you to get up, walk calmly to the bathroom, and once you're in there, you let everything out. Go."

"Santana–" Rachel protests, to no avail.

Because Kurt's already getting up. He walks calmly to the bathroom. He waits for the elderly woman to leave. He goes in. He closes the door behind him. He looks into the hazy, smudged mirror.

"Blaine..." He whimpers.

Then he sobs.

*.*.*.*.*

When Burt picks them up at airport, Kurt doesn't ask how Blaine is. He doesn't ask if he's awake yet. He doesn't ask if he's going to live. He can't speak.

He knows that if does, he'll collapse to the ground, his body trembling with strangled, miserable cries.

*.*.*.*.*

Everyone's at the hospital. All the New Directions, current and former, Mr. Schue and Ms. Pillsbury – well, Mrs. Schue now, the Warblers, and Carole, and his Dad, and Blaine's family.

As soon as he walks in, Kurt's bombarded with hugs and looks of sympathy and the smell of tears.

He needs to get out of here.

*.*.*.*.*

The doctors and nurses are trying to keep him away. They're saying that he can't go in the room, that no visitors are allowed, that his body isn't stable enough to risk anyone seeing him.

Kurt can't bring himself to care.

Suddenly, his no-violence policy is thrown under the subway he rides everyday and his blood is bubbling with rage because how is he _not_ supposed to see him?

"Mr. Hummel, we understand your frustration. But Mr. Anderson's breathing and blood flow need to be stabilized before–"

Kurt shoves him. He's never really shoved anyone before, and it didn't feel good, but he did it for Blaine. And he would do _anything_ for Blaine.

He shoves him, and he shoves all the other people that try to hold him back, too. Except the women. His dad taught him never to hit a woman, so instead, he simply slides out of their grip.

It isn't really that difficult. Not while he does it for Blaine.

*.*.*.*.*

When Kurt sees him, he almost collapses.

He looks so broken. He looks like he's been torn to shreds by some rabid animal. He looks so lifeless.

He's hooked up to all these different kinds of machines. Kurt doesn't know what any of them were, and he really doesn't care.

There's a sling on his arm and a cast on his leg. And – And the majority of his skin is black and blue and this purplish navy color. Not like it's supposed to be. It's usually a beautiful tan, and smooth, and tasting like heaven under Kurt's lips.

_His_ lip's split open. The lips that Kurt kissed endlessly, over and over again, soft and sweet and senseless, look like they've been crushed by the world's weight.

He has a black eye. His beautiful, hazel eye is so beaten and battered and bruised and it just _hurts_.

And now the doctor's speaking to him. Maybe explaining Blaine's injuries, maybe scolding him for being so abrasive, maybe trying to get him to leave. He doesn't hear any of it.

He sits in the chair next to Blaine's bed. He reaches for Blaine's hand. And he holds it. He holds onto it like his grip was the only thing keeping Blaine breathing. He holds onto it with everything he has, everything he is, and everything he will ever be.

*.*.*.*.*

The Doctor told him he was holding Blaine's hand too tight. That it would cut off circulation or some crap like that. When Kurt didn't believe him and didn't let go, he physically pried Kurt's fingers off.

"No...no, please." Kurt says, his voice cracked and broken and completely raw and dry. "I promise I'll be gentle. I'm sorry. Just _don't_ take him away from him me."

Kurt sounded so desperate and needy. He was aware of that. He usually hated being so vulnerable to people, but now it just didn't bother him.

The doctor simply nodded at his words. He patted his shoulder in a gesture that was supposed to provide comfort but instead was just really awkward and started for the door.

"You're gonna let me stay, right?" Kurt asks before the man has a chance to leave the room. "I-I'm sorry I shoved you. And everyone else. Just don't make me leave."

"No one is supposed to be in here, Mr. Hummel." The doctor says. Kurt's heart sinks in his chest, his grip on Blaine's hand tightening. "But...I'm gonna make an exception. Just this once."

"Thank you." Kurt breathes, relief flooding every square inch of his body.

Once the man is out of the room, Kurt shifts his chair closer to the hospital bed, pressing soft kisses to each of Blaine's fingertips.

He inhales shakily, trying to get Blaine's scent familiar once more. It made every muscle in his body ache at the fact that he was so powerless. He couldn't hold Blaine, he couldn't comfort him, he couldn't kiss away all his fears like he always did.

So he just sat, holding Blaine's hand to his cheek, nestling into the cold skin that was always so, so warm.

"I love you." Kurt whispers. "I love you more than anything else in the entire world. More than coffee and my McQueen sweaters and every Broadway Show. And you have to wake up. Please, Blaine, come back to me."

Silence answers him.

*.*.*.*.*

Footsteps are shuffling around the room. Kurt's not sure who they belong to, because he's just been staring at Blaine for the past two hours.

"Kurt, you gotta talk to me."

It's his Dad.

Both of them are quiet. Kurt's trying to speak, trying to find words to say, but it's not as easy as it sounds. Nothing ever is.

"What if he doesn't wake up?" Kurt asks, not facing his father. He can't tear his eyes away from Blaine. Broken, beaten Blaine.

"He's gonna wake up." Burt says. Kurt feels his father's hand on his shoulder and his nerves go somewhat down. "Doctor Berkley said he doesn't how long it's gonna take, but right now, things are lookin' good."

Kurt was about to spit out a witty, sarcastic remark, but then thought less of it.

_"Don't lose hope. Ever." Blaine told him._

Quite frankly, Kurt doesn't trust doctors. They told him that his mother was going to live. That she was going to be okay. That she would be normal again. She died a week later.

But the glimmer of hope is still there, shining bright through all the darkness.

"What if he doesn't r-remember me, though? What if he forgets everything?" Kurt asks, although it sounds more like a heartbreaking whimper than anything.

Burt doesn't say anything for a moment. Kurt still doesn't turn around. He just wants to look at Blaine. He wants to look at Blaine and see him laughing, and smiling, and being happy.

"Don't let him."

Kurt's face contorts into an expression of confusion. "How do I have any control over that?"

Burt grabs another chair and finally, finally Kurt faces him. He looks tired, his eyes bloodshot, his cheeks red and tear-stained. He looks old, too. It hurts to think like that, especially now, but he looks really, really _old_.

"People that are in a coma can hear what's goin' on around them. Remember when I had my heart attack?"

"Yes, dad." Kurt says, restraining an eye roll at the feel of Blaine's fingers in his. "I remember."

"I could hear, you know. You and Carole and Finn and the girls singin' to me. I could hear everything."

Again, Kurt's confused. He runs his fingers across his ring, a sharp pain stinging his chest at the memories that went along with it.

"You should talk to him." Burt says, gesturing to Blaine, "Tell him your story. How you met, fell in love, all that sappy stuff."

Kurt glanced back to Blaine, lying motionless except for the rising and falling of his chest.

"You think he'll hear me?"

Burt nods, "I know he will. And he'll love it. He'll want to hear your voice more than anything, bud."

Kurt's eyes return to Blaine. He's still beautiful. He'll always be beautiful to Kurt. Broken, beaten, battered, bruised he's always, always be beautiful to Kurt.

"Okay." Kurt says, that tiny glimmer of hope growing just a bit bigger and brighter, "I'll do it."

* * *

***Peeks out from behind a wall* Did anyone like it?**

**Please leave your thoughts. I need to know if I completely failed.**

**You're beautiful. I just thought you should know :3**

**–klisses xxx**


	2. Chapter 2 – My Guardian Angel

**A/N – Wow. You guys, you are amazing. I mean, each and every single one of you made my day. I was so nervous about posting, and you guys – just – thank you. Thank you.**

**And, I'm sorry for the delay. Life can get pretty busy, it turns out. Especially when you spend more than 90% time obsessing over crisscolfer. Seriously. They're perfect.  
Anyway! Enjoy the chapter!**

**Warnings – I dunno. This one's not as angsty, I don't think.**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing. If I did, there would much, much more klex.**

* * *

_Chapter 2 – My Guardian Angel _

_*.*.*.*.*_

Tell him your story.

Tell him your story.

Tell him your story.

Surely it couldn't be that difficult. How he and Blaine met, their first kiss, their first I love you, their first time. The major details. The ones that anyone could remember. But Kurt wanted it to be more than that. Kurt wanted this to be everything. To savor the fact that Blaine was still breathing, and that Kurt was able to hold his hand and kiss his fingertips and feel the silky, practically perfect skin whenever he pleased.

So he was going to give every detail. He was going to give Blaine everything, and he was going to do it right so that Blaine could replay it in his mind anytime he wanted once he woke up and was cuddled in Kurt's arms on a lazy Sunday morning.

Kurt's eyes move to Blaine. His bruises are better, a lighter, less vivid shade, and his eye is healing, and his lip looks...not good, but the closest thing to it.

Blaine was coming back to him. Because they love each other. Because they're made for each other. Because if it's not Blaine, it's no one. Kurt could never really love anyone else like this. Nothing even remotely close.

So Blaine was coming back.

He has to.

Kurt looks down at Blaine's hand in his. Their fingers sliding together effortlessly, their skin contrasting with a beauty Kurt didn't know existed, Kurt's ring gleaming in the blindingly exuberant hospital light.

He's close, sure. But not close enough. Never really close enough, but especially not now.

Kurt sighs. He smiles sadly down at Blaine's hand and lifts it to his lips, pressing a sweet, affectionate kiss to the cool patch of skin.

Then he presses soft kisses to each of Blaine's knuckles, his eyes shut, trying to hear the sound of pleasure that Blaine always made when Kurt kissed him. It was always there, sometimes quiet, sometimes not, but it was always there.

He didn't hear it physically, but in his head, it was as clear as the birds singing every morning as the sun peeks from behind the clouds.

He cradles Blaine's hand with both of his, and he – he talks.

"I don't even know where to start, Blaine. It feels like I've known you forever. Like you've always been in my life, giving me a s-shoulder to lean on, always putting a smile on my face, no matter how upset I was, and making feel beautiful and loved and like...everything – everything was g-going to be _okay_."

Kurt stops for a minute, his voice cracking on his last words. He has to do this. He needs to do this. He isn't sure what it is, but something – something inside is telling him that this is right. That Blaine would love this, that Blaine would do this for him.

So he took a deep breath, and he continued.

"When we met, I wasn't in a good place. I was being bullied. Badly. Tortured, really. I was barely breathing. And I wasn't living. Every day...every day was honestly a struggle. An opportunity for them to make my life an even bigger living hell than it already was. I just wanted everything to stop. I was ready to give up. I was going to give up. But then you showed up. You, with your perfect eyes and perfect hair and perfect lips and perfect everything."

Kurt smiles.

"You were beautiful, basically." Kurt says, his blue eyes shining with drops of salty water. "I know I probably don't tell you often enough, but when you wake up, I'm going to tell you every day. Every day, Blaine."

Blaine always told him that he was beautiful, always made him feel so goddamn beautiful and loved and safe that he couldn't even begin to know to do with himself. And now it was his turn. Blaine had to know that he was beautiful to him. Every minute of every hour of every day.

"When we met, I knew that you were the most gorgeous person I'd ever seen. And you still are. Yeah, there are guys. Guys that are cute, or have nice abs, or pretty faces. But no one compares with you. Not even Channing Tatum. We met at Dalton. You were wearing your cute little blazer, and you had enough gel in your hair to provide for the entire population of California, and your eyes were shining. Like, really shining. Like, brighter than Rachel Berry's star shining."

"We met on that – that staircase." Kurt whispers. "I know it sounds stupid, but it's not. At all. It's beautiful, really. L-Like you. I remember thinking that your smile seemed to light up the hole world, that you just had to be gay, otherwise I would just _die_."

Kurt chuckles softly at that, his fingers stroking tentatively at Blaine's wrist.

"And I told you that I was new at Dalton and I wanted to ask you a question. And you just smiled. It was that beautiful, _beautiful_ smile and you told me your name."

"Blaine, your name is gorgeous. Have I ever told you that before? It really is. I love the way it sounds and how it's spelled and what it means." Kurt says.

"And your eyes. Your eyes are everything, Blaine. _Everything_. I wish you – you would open them for me. I miss them. I miss their sparkle, and their warm, honey shade of hazel, and their love. They're filled with so much love, Blaine."

Kurt looks at Blaine's eyes. They're closed. But the love's still there. It's everywhere in Blaine. It always has been and always will be. He just knows.

"Anyway...y-you told me that you knew a shortcut. You grabbed my hand and we ran down some hallway together. You were the first person to ever hold my hand? Did you know that, Blaine? Well, except Brittany. And Mercedes one time at the mall."

"But you'll always be the first." Kurt says firmly, as firmly as his broken, small voice truly can. "Always."

Kurt took a quick second and swung Blaine's hand back and forth, his eyes glistening with watery smile. Just like in that hallway at Dalton.

"You sang to me then. You were so full of life and energy and love. The Warblers were behind you, and grinning and acting like they were having the time of their lives. They were great. But you were wonderful."

Kurt closes his eyes and tries to remember. Remember how Blaine moved, how he sounded, how his smile was shining brighter than anything Kurt had ever known.

"You were always wonderful. Singing or not singing. You're wonderful to me."

"Teenage Dream. That was the first time I ever felt like I really, truly mattered. Like I meant something to someone. To you. Just with that one song, you made me feel like I was i-important to you. Like you really, truly cared about me. You were singing to me, acting so...so flirty, not a care in the entire world. You're so flirty, Blaine, god, why are you so flirty?"

Kurt suddenly found a tear slipping down his cheek. It was one tear. Just one, single tear. That's it. Just one.

But that one turned into two. And that turned to three. And four. And five. And six. And then he was choking his sobs with his palm, his fingers trembling as he tried to quiet himself.

"This," Kurt put his hands on his heart, pursing his lips together as he restrained himself from releasing heart wrenching cries, "This belongs to you. Okay? I need you to know that. Because a lot things change. And go away. But this – this is forever."

Kurt's own words calmed him down a bit. He's just terrified of losing him. But now he knows that he won't. That Blaine will be with him, always and forever and for this lifetime and every other one to come.

"After the performance," Kurt says, his heart just a little bit lighter, "I asked if you and some other Warblers were gay. You told me you were. And I had to restrain myself from doing this mini-squeal-slash-shriek thing right there and then. I kind of did it when I got in my car afterwards, but still. You should be proud of how much self control I had."

Kurt looked at Blaine expectantly, because he expected some witty response. He always got some stupid, witty response that never failed to make him smile. He didn't get one this time.

So he went on. It was hard, but with a deep, unsteady breath, he went on.

"Then you asked the Warblers to let you and me talk. Alone. And I-I really wanted to kiss you. I thought you were going to kiss me, I was actually praying to a god I didn't even believe in that you would...b-but looking back, what you did for me instead, was so much better."

"You talked to me. You _listened_. You understood. No one, Blaine, no one in the entire world understood what I was going through. I was alone, Blaine. I felt so, utterly alone and broken and like no one cared. I just – I thought I didn't matter. Like no one could ever love me. And then you showed up. You were like this guardian angel. My guardian angel."

Kurt melted into Blaine's hand as he moved it to his cheek. He wanted to get forever lost in it. Because when Blaine touched him – it was heaven.

"My friends...they – they wanted to help me. I know they did. Even Puck. But no one could help me like you did. Y-you saved me, Blaine. You saved me."

_And I would do it again and again, every single day. For you. Anything for you, Kurt._

Kurt thought he heard Blaine speak. Just for a second, a quick, single second, he let himself hope that Blaine woke up. That he would crush his body into Kurt's and hold him for everything's he worth.

He didn't. He was still. Breathing, but so, so still.

"I was in love with you. I know that sounds naïve. I thought so for a while, too. But then I – I realized that I always loved you. In that very moment I looked into your eyes, I knew. I knew that I was in so deep, that I would give anything just to see you smile. And then you did." Kurt grinned, a lone, glossy tear falling as the edges of his eyes crinkled. "And I felt so happy, Blaine. So happy just to see you smile."

"I loved you then, and I love you now, and I loved you every second in between."

Kurt felt like he should cry. But he didn't want to. Because Blaine hated it when he cried.

*.*.*.*.*

He didn't tell Blaine anymore of their story that day. He couldn't. He tried, he tried, and he pushed himself, and he figured out that he really, really wasn't as strong as everyone brought him out to be.

*.*.*.*.*

"You look like hell, Hummel."

"Thank you, Santana."

She pulled up the chair beside him. Both of them were quiet for a moment. Just watching Blaine lay there, his only movement the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. But it was something, after all.

"What are you doing here?"

She grabbed his hand.

Santana Lopez grabbed Kurt Hummel's hand. Things like that don't really happen all that often.

"The ring's gorgeous." Santana said quietly, her eyes down at Kurt's finger. "I know I never told you that. But...well, it is. Anderson did some good pickin'."

Kurt honestly couldn't help but crack a small smile at that, "He always had the best taste."

"I don't know about that. He usually dressed like an extremely gay hobbit from the seventeenth century who ate hair gel every morning and crapped bow ties every night."

And then they laughed. They both laughed. And Kurt never really noticed this, but Santana had a pretty laugh. A really pretty laugh.

"That's my future husband you're talking about." Kurt said, his gaze tender and loving as he looked at Blaine. "So if you hurt him, I guess I'll have to kill you."

"And this is the future godmother of your adopted children that you're talking _to_, so..."

Kurt squeezed Santana's hand. She smiled. She had a really pretty smile, too.

* * *

**A/N – If you review, then that means that I will love you like Chris Colfer loves his llamas.**

**So, I guess reviews = llamas.**

**Any whoo. You shine like Darren's smile.**

**- klisses xoxo**


End file.
